


Beauty in Simplicity

by youjokebut



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hanzo's Guilt Ridden!, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, McCree makes some moonshine! can you believe it, McCree sings him a song, Mutual Pining, but in reality, but what else is new, well at least from Hanzo's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 17:08:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12280830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youjokebut/pseuds/youjokebut
Summary: "Agent McCree was everything that Hanzo had been taught to be the opposite of. It was maddening. He was maddening."Hanzo's bitter about how perfect McCree seems to be. But, nobody can be perfect.





	Beauty in Simplicity

**Author's Note:**

> i woke up in a COLD SWEAT needing to write this fic. it's based off a Tom Petty song called "Wildflowers". it's one of my favorites of his, give it a listen! anyway, i hate the trope where Hanzo is a rude bitch to McCree and McCree just happily takes it so here is some taking-responsibilites-for-his-actions!Hanzo. enjoy!

Jesse McCree would like for others to think that was a simple man, and upon their first meeting, Hanzo believed him to be one.

He didn’t seem like a solider; he was clumsy, he never took anything seriously, even when their lives were at stake. He always had a cigar hanging out of his lewd mouth, always went against orders, most of the time for his own enjoyment. He was too emotional, getting attached too easily for someone in his line of work. He never wanted to “shoot and ask questions later”, as he had put it; he always wanted to give someone the chance to do the right thing. And, when they didn’t, there was always disappointment evident in his eyes. He made foolish mistakes, but never seemed to show any regret for them.

Agent McCree was everything that Hanzo had been taught to be the opposite of. It was maddening. _He_ was maddening.

Hanzo did not like McCree, and he was not subtle about it.

He deliberately targeted McCree during simulations, ignore or interrupt him during debriefings, go out of his way to insult the other man any way he could. Their team members picked up on his behavior, and unsurprisingly, given the agents’ long history with Overwatch, he was not well liked for it. Still, no one ever spoke to him about it, not even his brother.

McCree on the other hand, either never seemed to notice or did not care about his cruelness. Whenever he saw Hanzo, he would get that dopey, lazy grin on his face, his eyes amber twinkling with appreciation or mirth.

“Howdy, Agent Shimada,” He would say, tipping his hat amicably. “Great job in training today; you’re a hella shot.” Or some other variation of a compliment.

Hanzo, in lieu of response, would just scowl.

Months passed and the more he learned about him, the less he liked. He learned of how McCree built a small greenhouse for Agent Pharah on the anniversary of her mother’s death. He hated watching him play video games with Agent D.Va, ones he almost always did not understand. He loathed that he was always the first to volunteer when Agent Mercy or Agent Lucio needed help in the medical ward. He especially seethed seeing Genji and the other man together, sparing or just enjoying each other’s company. He cursed that rough, booming laugh whenever his brother whispered something low in the fool’s ear.

Above all else, Hanzo despised himself. For, he was envious of the cowman.

“Fancy seein’ you here, Agent Shimada.”

Hanzo jumped, despite himself, nearly spilling his sake. His expression immediately twisted into disgust as he looked up to find a jovial McCree, trademark cigar hanging out of his mouth. He was also holding a beat up looking acoustic guitar and couple of strings. Hanzo rolled his eyes; of course, he played guitar. What didn’t this man do?

“Mind if I sit?” The man asked, not daring to move without confirmation. His respectful distance annoyed Hanzo to no end. The shorter man took a long swig from his bottle, groaning and wiping the excess from his goatee. He waved a hand dismissively, and glared out at the setting sun.

Normally, he would have avoided any kind of interaction with Agent McCree. Hanzo didn’t know if it was his stubbornness or the alcohol, but he decided he did not want to give the other man the satisfaction of scaring him away.

There was a flash of surprise on McCree’s face, before that same, infuriating smile was back. Of course, he sat down directly next to Hanzo with a huff, setting his guitar on his lap and began to re-string his guitar. Hanzo watched out of the corner of his eye; he couldn’t help but study the way the man deft fingers caressed the neck of the instrument. Despite its beat-up appearance, it seemed to hold a lot of value to the other agent.

Hanzo glanced up to the other man’s face; the warm, orange light made him look older, more desolate. The other man’s eyes flickered in front of him, following the slow descent of the sun. Then he smiled, but it was different from his usual, playful smirk. It was small, wistful. It was an expression that Hanzo never expected to see on the other man’s face; an expression, he realized, he did not like to see on the man’s face.

Guilt settled heavily in Hanzo stomach, a feeling he knew all too well.

“I did not know you played an instrument.” He finally said, his voice rough from the drinking. Agent McCree glanced at him, meeting his gaze. His eyes were wide with shock, obviously not expecting any sort of conversation to happen. Hanzo smirked, chuckling quietly; he did not blame him.

After a while, McCree looked away, nodding.

“I picked ‘t again up after my ma died.” He responded, voice uncharacteristically quiet. “She always wanted me t’, so I started learnin’. But after I joined Deadlock, I kinda fell out of ‘t. Wasn’t even good enough t’ play at her funeral.”

Hanzo’s eyes widened in surprise, not expecting such a tale from the man beside him. It was hard to see the other man in the low light, but from the small light his cigar was giving off, he noticed the pained expression on the other man’s face.

“My apologies, Agent McCree, I did not know—”

Before he could finish, McCree chuckled humorlessly and waved him off.

“’s all right, Shimada.” He said, glancing at the other man and smirking. “No way you coulda known, don’t really talk about ‘t much.”

Hanzo heart seized, skipped a beat. There was something about the other agent trusting him with something so personal. Instead of identifying the discernible warmth that washed over him at the thought, Hanzo decided to take another long swig of his sake. Once finished, he offered it to the other man, who accepted it gratefully.

McCree pulled away from the flask, raising both his eyebrows. Then, he shrugged, an amused smirk playing on the corner of his lips. Hanzo narrowed his eyes, taking his flask back.

“What?” He pressed and, when the man just shrugged again, he pressed. “ _What_?”

McCree laughed, a pleasing, friendly sound.

“I _dunno_ ,” He murmured, looking down at Hanzo slyly, who bristled under his gaze. “I expected ya to drink something a bit stronger.”

Hanzo rolled his eyes.

“And what, may I ask,” He grunted, crossing his arms over his chest and pointedly glaring at the other man. “Did you expect of me?”

To that, McCree’s eyes lit up. He set his guitar carefully between them, reaching under his red, tattered serape and pulled out an flask of his own. He twisted it open, taking a sip from it and swallows with a hiss. He handed it over to Hanzo.

Hanzo takes a small, wary sip. He swallows thickly, trying not to sputter. To his surprise, Agent McCree doesn’t laugh at him. When he turns to him, he is smiling at him, expectant. Hanzo rolls his eyes, not being able to keep a small smirk off his face as he just shrugs. McCree seems to find that answer enough, grin widening and snatching back his flask to take another sip.

“Moonshine. Made it m’self.” He clarifies, winking good-naturedly at Hanzo. The other man just huffs a small laugh, murmuring a soft ‘of course’.

They sit like that for a long time, sun long past set, but both sets of eyes remain trained on the horizon. After a while, McCree cigarillo crumbles, and he pulls out another one and lights it. Hanzo glances over out of the corner of his eye, and smiles. He would never admit it, but he’s comforted by the fact that the other agent seems to want to stick around.

Eventually, Hanzo taps the other man’s guitar.

“If you were coming out to play, do not let me stop you.”

McCree glanced at him, and raised an eyebrow. Hanzo met his gaze, smiling, what he hoped was, encouragingly. The man next to him suddenly grinned, picking up his guitar and situated it in his lap.

He started strumming, slowly at first, as if trying to recall the pattern to be used. He muttered to himself, something inaudible to Hanzo before picking up the pace of the strumming. Hanzo took another sip from his flask, relishing in the warm feeling it gave as it travelled down his throat. He tried not to choke when McCree began to [sing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ozgmyx919a4).

“ _You belong among the wildflowers_

 _You belong in a boat out at sea_.”

The other man’s voice was rough, unbalanced. It was deep, and if he hadn’t been sitting directly next to McCree, Hanzo would not have believed it was him. The sadness in his tone betrayed the carefree strumming from the guitar. Hanzo marveled in it.

“ _Sail away, kill off the hours_

 _You belong somewhere you feel free_.”

There was now a smile in the other man’s voice, that the archer could not help but glance over at. He almost laughed with surprise when he saw the other man, who was swaying where he sat. His foot tapping to the beat, shoulders shifting on every off beat. He was not looking at Hanzo, but out at the horizon. There was nothing but glee in his eyes, and, for once, Hanzo welcomed it. He chuckled, bumping shoulders with the other man.

“ _Run away, find you a lover_

 _Go away somewhere all bright and new_.”

He found himself engrossed by the rise and fall of the other man’s throat, the movement of his fingers on the fretboard. The watched the way his lips moved, how expressive his eyes were with each word he sang. It was then that Hanzo realized something that he had been ignoring since he had first met the other man; he was beautiful.

“ _I have seen no other_

 _Who compares with you._ ”

There was that same sadness again. This time, however, it was directed at Hanzo. McCree looked straight into his eyes, something intense, meaningful that made Hanzo look immediately away. He took another sip from his flask, absentmindedly rubbing the warmth on his cheeks. McCree quickened his strumming ever so slightly, before settling back into the normal rhythm.

“ _You belong among the wildflowers_

 _You belong in a boat out at sea._ ”

Hanzo felt McCree shift next to him, and out of sheer curiosity, he looked over at the man again. McCree was fully facing him, wearing a sad smile that made a shiver run down Hanzo’s spine. Their eyes met and the gunslinger seemed to perk up, scooting even closer. Hanzo realized, with surprise, that his colleague was no longer just singing, but singing for him. The thought made him so embarrassingly tense, that he glared half-heartedly at the other man. McCree huffed a quiet chuckle in response.

“ _You belong with your love on your arm_

 _You belong somewhere you feel free_.”

He could feel himself moving closer to the other man, surprised at his own lack of self-control. Deciding to put the blame on the alcohol, he allowed himself to lay a hand on the other man’s thigh, turning fully towards him. McCree looked surprised by the touch, but did not pull away. The heavy, withered expression was back.

“ _Run away, go find a lover_

 _Run away, let your heart be your guide._ ”

McCree looked away, much to Hanzo’s dismay, and down at his strumming. His eyebrows furrowed, looking distraught. Hanzo immediately grabbed his chin, and lifted it, so their eyes could meet again. The other agent still had that saddened look on his face, but leaned into the archer’s touch. Hanzo’s heart lurched forward in his chest, as he let his knuckles rub against the other man’s untamed scruff.

“ _You deserve the deepest of cover_

 _You belong in that home by and by._ ”

Hanzo reached up, taking the cigarillo out of the other man’s mouth and putting it out on the ground next to his feet. His heart hammered in his chest as he felt himself memorizing every curve and blemish on the other man's face. McCree did not react, only leaning closer to Hanzo, eyes half lidded. He glanced down at his mouth, and Hanzo smirked. He took the gunslinger’s face in both his hands, rubbing his thumb across the freckles that he hadn’t previously noticed littered the other man’s cheeks.

_“You belong among the wildflowers_

_You belong somewhere close to_ me. _”_

There was that same sincere look in McCree’s eye, and this time, Hanzo was sure of what it meant.

“ _Far away from your trouble and wor—_ ”

Then Hanzo kissed him, effectively cutting off whatever McCree was going to say next. The strumming stuttered and, after a couple minutes, ceased. He pressed an open palm to the back of the other man’s neck, pulling gently on the base of his hair. McCree groaned into his mouth, slipping the guitar out from between them. Before he had a chance to react, the other man closed the distance between them, pressing their chests together and wrapping strong arms around his waist. Hanzo melted into the touch.

Tongues mingled lazily; the gunslinger tasted of tobacco and moonshine, but not unpleasantly so. The ratty serape brushed against his arm; Hanzo could now see why the other man was never caught dead without it. It was soft to the touch, worn from years of use. He grabbed an edge, gently pulling. McCree’s grip tightened around him, their teeth colliding softly as he deepened the kiss with a sigh. Hanzo smiled, pulling away slightly.

McCree opened his eyes, cheeks flushed red. He then chuckled, sounding stained and raspy. Hanzo just smiled and pressed his forehead against his. He sighed, letting his eyes flutter closed, reveling in the easy comfort of the other man.

“’v been wantin’ to do that for a long time.” McCree admitted, pulling away to give Hanzo a soft kiss on his forehead. The archer chuckled, pressing his face against the other man’s chest plate. Even with the rough, dented metal against his cheek, being this close to the gunslinger was intoxicating. He almost melted when McCree tucked his face in between his shoulder, wrapping him up in a tight hug. He could not remember the last time he had been held like this.

“You tasted of an ash tray.” Hanzo finally responded. McCree let out a muffled laugh, breath tickling Hanzo’s neck. The archer squirmed and tightened his grip on his fellow agent. The gunslinger smelled of cedar, smoke, and a bit of musk that was unique to him.

Then the rush of guilt came, almost knocking the wind out of Hanzo.

“Jesse,” Hanzo began slowly. He had never used the other man’s first name before. McCree pulled away, the undeniably lovestruck expression on his face nearly taking Hanzo’s breath away. He cleared his throat. “I am…sorry for my behavior before. I did not want to admit to myself that I…”

He trailed off. McCree looked at him expectantly, Hanzo swallowed his pride and continued.

“I still have many troubles that I need to work through, and I…took it out on you, when I should not have.”

McCree kissed him, a quick, closed-mouth kiss that left Hanzo unsatisfied. He glared up at the gunslinger, not putting it past the man to respond with a snarky, immature comment to his heartfelt apology. The other man just looked down at him, chuckling.

“Thank ya kindly, darlin’. I ‘preciate the apology.” He said, and for more than once tonight Hanzo was pleasantly surprised. “I knew you’d come around, you’re a good man, Hanzo.”

Hanzo was not convinced. He looked away, scowling.

“McCree, I am—”

“Aw, I liked it when you called me Jesse, sugarplum!” Jesse interrupted, laughing airily. Hanzo felt a small smile pull at the corner of his lips as he rolled his eyes. He pressed a soft kiss to the other man’s cheek.

“Jesse,” He corrected, murmuring against the man’s scruff, not wanting to look at him for this. “I am not—”

The other man pushed him away, glaring at him.

“Hanzo, ‘fore you say anythin’, shut _up_.” McCree grunted, lifting the other man’s chin until their eyes met. The gunslinger’s expression (gentle, warm brown eyes with a signature kind grin) made Hanzo want to push the him away, scream at him. He did not deserve that he seemed so eager to give; he was not worthy of the affections of the infuriatingly perfect _Jesse McCree_.

 “This lone wolf routine ain’t gon’ cut it anymore. Trust me, seen it force great men n’ women t’ the grave.” There was a flash of grief, hatred, and longing in the man’s eye, seemingly all at once. Hanzo yearned for the sweet, jovial man he had once despised. He did not recognize this angry, resentful old man before him. He laid a hand a hand absentmindedly on the younger man’s thigh, and McCree blinked, eyes refocusing on Hanzo.

He huffed a bitter laugh, lips curling into a grim smirk. “Y’think you’re the only agent ‘round here who’s done some nasty shit? Yeah, what cha did was _beyond_ fucked up, but makin’ y’rself suffer ain’t helpin’ make up for what cha did.”

Hanzo attempted to look away, but the grip on his chin proved steadfast. He locked eyes with the man once again, though rather reluctantly. The fondness he had found he craved had creeped back into the man’s expression, but that did not make it any easier to maintain eye contact.

“Honey,” McCree said, voice barely above a whisper. “We all deserve second, even third or fourth, chances to be happy. Life ‘s quick, ‘n time don’t wait for us to catch up. Y’can’t keeping walkin’ round with guilt all your life, ‘specially when you’ve already been forgiven.”

Hanzo felt his throat tighten. He swallowed thickly.

“An’, darlin’” The gunslinger continued, lips brushing against the archers as he hummed softly. “I think you're allowed t' let y'rself have some happiness. Hell, I think you deserve the whole world, sweetpea.”

Their lips met just as Hanzo choked out a wet sob. He pressed his chest flush against the other man’s, tangling his fingers in his ratty, thick brown locks. Trembling, he squeezed his eyes shut, silent tears rolling down his cheeks. Knowing he was clinging desperately to the gunslinger, Hanzo tried to put some distance between them, vainly attempting to have a least an ounce of composure. McCree only pulled him closer, wiping his tears and whispering endearments with every gasp of breath. Every word only made Hanzo whimper and shake his head. In turn, every time he opposed, McCree would chuckle softly, assuring that every single thing he said was ‘absolutely true’ and that he ‘meant every word’.

After a while, it become too much for Hanzo and he had to pull away. Jesse waited patiently for him, giving him the space he clearly needed. But, he did reach over and hold his hand, rubbing soothing circles into his palm.

Hanzo later looked shyly at McCree, red-faced with his eyes swollen, a small smile on his face.

McCree thought he looked radiant, and told him so.

Hanzo just huffed a laugh, shaking his head. Then he locked eyes with the other man.

“I think you deserve the world as well, Jesse.”

McCree hugged him so tight that the two men fell over, off the bench they had been sitting on, pleased laughter bubbling out of him. Hanzo cried out in surprise, but his smile did not falter. Wrapping an arm around the gunslinger, he pressed a sloppy kiss to his forehead, chuckling softly as McCree buried his head in the crook of his neck.

He sighed, closing his eyes. He was looking forward to understanding the complexities of the simple man that was Jesse McCree.

The next morning, when he walked into the meeting room and McCree drawled his usual greeting, Hanzo sat down directly next to him. He smiled and pressed a chaste kiss to the other man’s cheek. Jesse grinned toothily at him around his lit cigar, enveloping his hand in his own before turning his attention back to Winston.

The scientist was staring at them in disbelief, holding an uncapped pen just above the board he was about to write on. Hanzo raised an eyebrow, noticing that everyone one else in the room had been giving the two the same treatment. He glanced at McCree, who only shrugged.

The uncomfortable silence was finally broken as Agent D.Va slammed her fist down on the table.

“All right, what the **_fuck_**!”

**Author's Note:**

> i swear 2 christ herself that i will upload the second chapter of bean grinder soon bc i have a lot in store for that fic. if y'all are ever interested, feel free to follow me on tumblr @ youjokebut! ok have a great night!


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